


Cypress

by mylordshesacactus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do not understand why you trust me so thoroughly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cypress

They all mourned that night.

It was bad enough, as Lavinia said through tears, to lose a Hunter at all, but to lose  _Arethusa_ …she broke off the thought, stifling a sob. Diana sighed, shifting out of the circle of Cynthia's arms to rub the younger girl's back. Alene, left cold on one side, shifted to cling to Cynthia more firmly; ever the mother, the older girl was careful not to jostle her as she handed a slightly-burned sausage on a stick to one of the other girls across the fire.

Artemis would have to talk to them. Eventually. Whatever bond—romantic or otherwise—there was between Cynthia and Diana it had not affected their service, nor had they shown any desire between them to have a life other than this one; but if they ever desired to change that it would be better that they know she would support their decision. Especially after today. She couldn't risk any more good Hunters' safety. She knew it was a conversation she should have sooner rather than later; but not yet. Not tonight. Normally the goddess would be quick to guide such young couples, lest they make mistakes that couldn't be taken back; but tonight she couldn't even bring herself to care. She felt cold.

She had failed. That was the thought that kept pushing, intruding, try as she might to banish it. Arethusa had trusted her implicitly, trusted her with her life, and in the end the only thing Artemis had done for her was take away her choices and her future in one desperate flash of magic. She hadn't even had time to  _find_  the girl; she had responded to the frantic prayer in the only way she could, but she would never forget the horror of feeling such a bright, cheerful mind go dark as it dissolved into a new river. The Hunters, bless them all, sensed their goddess’ anguish. From time to time they would meet her eyes, and they all said the same thing:  _This isn’t your fault._

Glancing around the grieving circle, however, she noticed with a jolt that the one she needed most to see had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. For a moment she felt a thrill of panic.  _No,_  she thought.  _Not Zoë too. Not now._  Her gaze fell on two crossed arrows a short distance away, gleaming faintly silver in the moonlight.

She stood up, and immediately all eyes were on her, some confused, some anxious, all of them concerned. She brushed their minds lightly. Though most of them were simply overwhelmingly tired, with sharp spikes of pain and grief from those who had been closest to Arethusa, she found all them harbored varying degrees of nervousness as well. Frowning, she dipped carefully into Cynthia's mind; the gentle mortal was Zoë's second and used to such intrusions. Cynthia met her gaze when she felt her lady's presence, and tucked most of her worries behind quiet mental barriers out of politeness; still, Artemis gleaned enough from the shallow contact to understand her Hunters' concern.

She had always been impulsive, after all; the girls seemed to fear that, in a fit of well-justified immortal anger, she might do something to provoke Aphrodite. And even though she was immortal and it was the Hunters who were most likely to suffer in a godly skirmish, they were afraid for  _her_. The goddess’ heart melted at their loyalty. The closest Hunter—Alene, the poor dear child, barely more than eight years old and already so experienced in loss—made an odd movement, as if she had wanted to hold Artemis back but thought better of it. The little girl cuddled back into Cynthia’s side instead, and Artemis gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I shall be but a moment,” she said quietly, glancing back up at her senior Hunter. “Cynthia, you are in charge until I return.”

Cynthia looked shocked. “Me? But-” she looked instinctively across the goddess, to the place Zoë would normally have occupied, to find it empty. Then the girl seemed to understand.“Yes, Archeress,” she said quietly, and Artemis almost smiled at the title. Cynthia was the only one to call her by it. Most Hunters simply used her name, with the addition of one honorific or another; she was hardly strict about such things. Lavinia, the normally-bold Trojan girl who gave Artemis and her brother full credit for the city’s ten-year defense, had finally been convinced to keep her terms of address down to one or two descriptors. Once the hero-worship had been given a chance to die down, she had molded herself into a fine Hunter. But Cynthia alone called her  _Archeress_ , simply and warmly, and it never failed to touch the goddess.

Reaching the arrows, Artemis knelt to examine them. They formed a deliberate X, the delicate fletching perfectly intact and the ground around the marker undisturbed. She recognized it as Zoë’s effort to reassure her that she had not been kidnapped or murdered or swallowed up by the earth. Most likely her lieutenant simply wanted some time alone, some time to think.

Well, to Hades with what Zoë wanted. Artemis knew her too well. She wasn’t about to let her lieutenant wallow in undeserved self-hatred all night;  _that_  she had done more than enough of already.

She tracked her wayward Huntress easily, without bothering to watch the ex-Hesperid’s footprints. She was, after all, the Goddess of the Hunt; as helpless as she had felt that day, she still had  _this_  much power. The path was relatively straight, easy to retrace; Zoë hadn't intended to go far, or fast, Artemis thought, and after a few quiet minutes a sheen of silver in a dark portion of forest proved her suspicious correct. 

She made her way to Zoë's side slowly. The nymph was leaning against a tree, facing away from her and toying with an enchanted dagger. After a moment she flung it into the shadows, where it pierced deep into a rotting stump Artemis hadn't even seen, black-on-black between two larger trees. The knife gave a satisfying  _thud_  as it struck home; after a few moments it shimmered, dissolved, and reappeared in its sheath, whereupon Zoë threw it again.  _Thud…Thud…Thud._  The strong, stoic huntress looked close to tears.

“Did the tree do you some great personal injury, Zoë?” asked Artemis in a quiet voice.

Zoë jumped; even so her aim was true, dagger speeding once more into the heart of the stump. When her brief moment of surprise faded she seemed distinctly unhappy to see her goddess, nodding only briefly before turning away again. At least, Artemis thought with an inward sigh, she was courteous enough to hide it behind that thrice-damned mask of coolness.

“I did not hear thee, my lady,” she said in a politely emotionless voice. The dagger reappeared at her hip and she drew it unconsciously, cocking her hand to throw. Artemis caught her wrist as gently as she could; she held her lieutenant still for a long moment before slipping the knife from between her fingers and sliding it back into its sheath. For a moment Zoë looked mutinous, almost pulling away from the touch; then she seemed to deflate, all the fight leaving her body as she let her arm go limp. Artemis allowed the girl's hand to fall, but didn't move away. For several long minutes, neither of them said a word. Zoë seemed unable; she was staring at the mutilated stump with such intensity Artemis half-expected it to burst into flames. The goddess made no attempt to press her, content to stand quietly and wait for her to speak.

Zoë broke the silence only when she realized she had no choice. “Arethusa was my friend,” she said flatly, still addressing the stump.

“What would you have me do, Zoë?” Artemis’ voice, tired as it was, had a hard edge. “Or do you think perhaps that Arethusa would thank me for wasting time she did not have on a rescue attempt I could not make in time? Trade her safety for vengeance on an attacker I could have stopped from ever touching her? My pride is not so valuable.”

Zoë looked around in alarm. “I do not blame thee, my lady!” she said, mask forgotten in her shock that the goddess could ever draw such a conclusion. “You did all you could. You saved her.” She returned her focus to the stump. “I only wish it had not been necessary.” She stared at the stump for several strained heartbeats. Finally, she ripped her dagger from its sheath and threw it with such force the rotten wood split in two.

“Why can they not simply let us be?” she said hopelessly, tears finally welling in her dark brown eyes. She put her head in her hands as if to run her fingers through her hair, and froze when her fingertips brushed the silver lieutenant’s band. She withdrew her hand slowly, and Artemis saw that it was shaking. “They do not deserve this, my lady,” she whispered in a tortured voice. “I have made too many mistakes, cost too many lives…” The tears that had welling in her eyes spilled over, coursing silently down her face. “Daphne, now Arethusa…these things do not have to happen! If I had been more careful-“

“Zoë.” Artemis’ voice was kind, but firm. “Do not blame yourself for the gods’ wrongdoing. This is  _not_ , nor has it ever been, your fault.”

Zoë shook her head. "No,” she insisted, quiet. “No, my lady, I am sorry, but you are wrong. I should have known better than to ever allow them to be alone long enough for the situation to become so desperate. If Daphne was not lesson enough...!"

Her knife shimmered and reappeared at her hip, but she ignored it. She was staring at the rotten stump again, but Artemis didn't need to share her mind to know what she was really seeing.

* * *

 It was just after noon, the hottest part of another Greek summer.

The proximity of the sun chariot didn’t help matters. Apollo’s fiery horses, a perfectly-matched team of six and their master’s eternal pride, tossed their heads and pawed the earth in a false show of ferocity. The grass dried around them, bursting into flames wherever the white-hot hooves touched down. The horses—much like their master, really—were in truth more mischievous than dangerous. For all that they pranced and reared, scattered embers from their burning manes and whinnied fiercely, if they had  _really_  wanted to cause havoc nothing was stopping them; the flashing golden harness was slack, the reins resting carelessly loose on their peg.

They were  _Apollo’s_  horses, after all. In a pinch they were deadly fighters, but all they really wanted to do was play. They also tended to frighten Hunters, who didn’t understand the horses’ true nature quite so well as their mistress.

“Hunters, load up!” Zoë ordered reluctantly. She cast a miserable glance at Artemis, and the goddess almost laughed.  _Please,_  the look said clearly,  _please,_ please _tell me this is just a joke, and that we do not actually have to travel with this person._

“Here, sweetheart,” said Apollo to Daphne, across the clearing. “Let me get that.” Hesitantly, Daphne surrendered her heavy pack to the god.

 _It’s only for a few days_ ,  _dear one,_  Artemis said in Zoë’s mind, trying to tone down her amusement for the sake of the girl’s pride.  _Aphrodite’s revenge on Atalanta was dishonest and cruel. I must be on Olympus to deal with it. If—_ when _, rather—she takes offense at my…correction, I would not have my Hunters be tempting targets. Chiron and his heroes will protect you._  She could feel Zoë’s contempt at the very idea, but there was no time to speak to her about it. Turning to the magically enlarged chariot, she performed a quick head count and came up short.

Frowning, she scanned the faces of the Hunters, running a mental inventory.

“Where is Daphne?” she asked Zoë.

The girl froze, and then turned, excruciatingly slowly, to face the goddess. Artemis felt her immortal heart skip a beat at the terror in her lieutenant’s eyes. Zoë swallowed, and then asked one all-important question.

“Where is  _Apollo?_ ”

* * *

 Artemis shook herself mentally, and placed a cool hand on Zoë’s shoulder. She tucked a strand of escaping black hair behind its mistress' ear, gently brushing Zoë's braid off of her neck. “Do not torture yourself over Daphne’s fate,” she said gently. “If even I could not keep my brother in check, how could you? You expect too much of yourself. Even Lord Zeus is not omnipotent.”

There was a distant peal of thunder. Raising her voice, Artemis called, “ _You’re not helping!”_

Zoë sighed and leaned into her goddess' gentle petting, offering her a quick approximation of a smile as she rolled her eyes at her father's dramatics. “You are right, of course, my lady. There was nothing I could have done for Daphne. But today … Arethusa… this was my  _fault,_  Artemis!"

Noting the informal use of her name with more pleasure than she had anticipated, Artemis shook her head. "Zoë..."

But Zoë was, for the first time in their centuries of acquaintance, beyond listening. " _Why_ did I let her go off alone?" she cried. "I was a fool. She was always so friendly, so bright, and she asked me, as politely as you can imagine, if she could go on a short walk. She said she wanted to be on her own, to hear to forest…" Zoë shook her head sharply, tossing a few more strands of dark hair free from her braid and taking a step back from her goddess. "We were not doing anything that required her help, I thought the forest was safe...” She trailed off helplessly. “If anyone deserved a long life with Elysium to follow, it was Arethusa. And now, because of me, because of  _my_  folly, she will have nothing.”

“It was I who changed her, Zoë,” Artemis reminded her softly.

“And I who made it necessary.” Zoë did not look as if she would be accepting comfort, even if she desperately wanted it. “I…I do not deserve this kind of trust,” she said, and made as if to remove the silver band around her head.

Artemis caught her wrist, much less gently this time. “You think so little of my judgment, Zoë  _Nightshade_?” she demanded, allowing some steel into her voice. “I  _chose_  you. Over all others, daughter of Atlas. Question my actions in the field if you will; you are my lieutenant, you have that right. But I will never hear you doubt my decisions as they apply to my Hunters again. You were not given this position lightly."

“I do not deserve it,” repeated Zoë in a tiny, painful voice. She dropped her eyes, refusing to look at the goddess. "I would never question thee, Lady Artemis, truly, only my abilities, I meant no disrespect. But I do not deserve the esteem in which you hold me."

Artemis felt the anger drain out of her to see her companion in such a state. “I disagree,” she said quietly, holding the girl’s hand between her own. _  
_

“I do not understand why you trust me so thoroughly,” Zoë said with a miserable look. “I would not have met thee had I not first betrayed my family.”

"I trust you because you are worthy of trust, dear one." Artemis silenced Zoë's instinctive protest with two cool fingers pressed to her lips. She took the girl's chin carefully in her hand, turning her head so that their eyes were forced to meet. “You may believe otherwise, but know this: my Hunters are my dearest and my best. I would not give authority over them to someone I could not trust, and I could never trust anyone who did not love them as fiercely as I do. They look to you for guidance—not because of your rank, but because, Zoë, you are  _theirs_. Tell me honestly, and I will know if you lie; is there anything you would not suffer if by doing so you could save them?"

Zoë's response was fiery and immediate, the emphatic  _absolutely nothing_  written so clearly on her face and in her mind that Artemis smiled before her lieutenant had even drawn breath. " _No,_  my lady."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "And is there anything, any promise or threat, that could convince you to betray them? Harm them in any way, or allow them to be harmed?"

Zoë almost stepped back at that, and Artemis had the distinct impression that if she had been anyone else Zoë would never have forgiven her even for asking. "You know there is not. Nothing is worth their pain."

Artemis didn't even bother to think before kissing her, and it was so natural she couldn't imagine why it had taken her three centuries to do it. "Zoë, dear one," she asked with a smile, brushing her girl's hair out of her face, "what did you think family  _meant?_ "

* * *

 Artemis let the words hang in the air, silver-yellow eyes locked hawklike on dark brown. Finally, the tense posture of Zoë’s shoulders began to relax. She blinked once, slowly, and raised her head, and there was a sort of wonder in her eyes as she looked at her goddess. “Thank you, my lady,” she whispered, and for once there was no pain in her voice.

Artemis smiled. “I was only telling you what you already knew.” She brushed her hands together, turning suddenly businesslike. “Now!” she said. “We had best return to the Hunters, lest we find they have had all kinds of wonderful adventures without us.”

Zoë smiled, an easy smile of actual—dare she say it— _happiness._ “As you wish, my lady,” she said quietly.

As the two huntresses walked all but soundlessly through the trees, Artemis noticed a change in Zoë’s bearing. It was not dramatic, but still, it was there. Her stride was ever so slightly more confident, she was ever so subtly calmer. The goddess tactfully refrained from mentioning it, but she thought that, just maybe, Zoë was finally healing. Feeling oddly shy for a Spartan goddess, she brushed her fingertips questioningly over her lieutenant's elbow. Zoë leaned comfortably into her, and Artemis' arm settled around her waist like it was always meant to be there.

When they reached a small clearing, Zoë slowed and stopped, looking up at the stars with an expression of utmost contentment on her face.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” she said softly.

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Artemis. “But you are right.”

Zoë had a contemplative look on her face. “I sometimes feel it was worth it,” she said slowly, “All of it—just to see the stars.”

It took a moment for Artemis to understand what she meant. “There are no stars over the Garden of the Hesperides?” she asked in surprise.

“None,” replied Zoë, “Unless a mortal has entered. My…the others always said they disrupted the magic, polluted the garden with the mortal world. But when the defenses were intact…night never falls there, you see. It is always twilight. It was beautiful, of, course—breathtakingly so. And yet…” She swept her arm out, indicating her surroundings. “It cannot compare to this.” As she pondered the surrounding forest, a look of unease entered her peaceful face. She hesitated before moving away from Artemis' arm with a reassuring squeeze of her fingers to take any sting out of the action. She walked over to a shining-leafed laurel and stroked its branches absentmindedly, appearing lost in unhappy thoughts.

“My lady?” she said. “What if…” She swallowed. “What if I am next?”

Artemis didn’t have to ask what she meant. “You will not be,” she answered firmly. “But if you are ever in need of me, I will save you. Never doubt that.”

Zoë flinched. “What do you mean by ‘save’, my lady?”

“Enough of these leading questions,” Artemis frowned. “Why not have everything out in the open? Tell me what troubles you, my brave one, and see if it can’t be fixed.” As she spoke, she placed her hand on her lieutenant’s shoulder and pulled her away from the laurel, breaking her trance and leading her back along her path through the forest.

Zoë seemed lost for words, so the goddess waited as they picked their way through tree roots. Finally, she managed, “My lady…will you promise me something?”

Artemis hesitated. “That, my Huntress, depends on what you wish me to promise.”

Zoë understood immediately. “I would not ask for a binding oath,” she said swiftly. “Thy word would be more than enough. Only promise me…” Her voice broke slightly, but she recovered herself. “Promise me that when I die, or if I am the next… please, my lady, I beg you, do not turn me into a tree, or a spring, or anything else. I could not bear it…I would much sooner live my life, and die when my time comes, and hope that I might achieve Elysium, than have my spirit trapped between life and death forever.”

Artemis walked in silence for several minutes, reluctant to make even a non-magical oath. The look in Zoë’s eyes, however, was impossible to ignore.

“Very well,” she said finally. “You have my word.”

Zoë visibly relaxed. “Thank you, my lady.”

Artemis smiled and kissed the inside of Zoë's wrist, suddenly playful. “It is not a binding magical oath, mind you. I would make sure to serve me very well, else I may be tempted to go back on my word.”

Zoë looked shocked for a moment, until Artemis winked up at her and she realized the goddess was joking. She spluttered indignantly, and Artemis gave a teasing grin.

“I am sure you would make a lovely tree,” she offered. “Perhaps a cypress…” Zoë made an odd face, and Artemis laughed outright. She had the distinct impression Zoë was biting her own tongue. "Hush, dear one. Be honest with me; I demand nothing more of you. And I will not forget."

The last bit of worry that had been lingering behind Zoë's eyes at her lady's teasing vanished. "Thank you," she said again, softly, as they finally left the treeline.

“Lady Artemis! Zoë!” Cynthia’s voice was filled with relief. “We were getting worried,” she explained, looking embarrassed. The others greeted them as well; with the exception of Alene, who had fallen asleep in Cynthia's lap.

Artemis patted the girl lightly on the shoulder. “Forgive us,” she said. “We lost track of the time.” Looking around the circle, she said, “It is late, and we have had a long day. You should get a few hours’ sleep, at the very least. Bank the fire; get some rest. All of you,” she added pointedly to Zoë. “No matter how beautiful the stars are.”

The Hunters, working with their usual efficiency, were settled down in their standard half-circle in less time than it took to say it. The atmosphere was subdued but no longer somber; they had suffered a loss, but the dead-eyed despair she had seen earlier was gone and they appeared to have been talking amongst themselves, making their peace. At the very least the meal had raised their spirits enough for a tired version of the usual good-natured squabbling to take place. As usual it arose from the right, followed by the usual well-aimed shoe thrown from the facing side of the crescent and the usual muffled “ _ouch!_ ” from its victims.

In foul weather, those victims would be the inhabitants of the mildly-overcrowded Tent Three. There were nine tents total at the moment: one for Artemis, one for Zoë, and seven more that were  _supposed_  to hold two Hunters each. That was the official number: two Hunters per tent.  But Alene was so fond of Cynthia and Diana that it seemed cruel to separate them. Luckily Alene was small; still, the arrangement would never work if Cynthia and Diana weren't, as Helena put it, essentially married. They were perfectly happy to sleep curled in each others' arms with Alene warm and safe between them, and Artemis saw no reason to intrude on the arrangement. Diana just like to complain when Alene stepped on her while wiggling into position.

For tonight, however, the air was warm and the sky clear, and tents were unnecessary. Artemis sent a silent prayer of thanks to her father. Fine weather had long been a norm on nights the Hunters mourned for one of their own lost, a rare sign of tenderness from the stern Olympian; it allowed them to gather and take comfort from one another or in solitude, as struck their fancy, and the goddess herself could take strength and a grounding reassurance from an unobstructed moon.

“My lady?”

The goddess turned to see Zoë, hesitating to crawl between her blankets. The girl smiled slightly, and said, “Thank you… again. It means more than you know. Thy word,” she clarified. “It means more to me than I can say.” With no change of expression, she added, “Good night, my lady. I am sure I shall sleep like a log. Perhaps a cypress.” With that she withdrew, pulling the blankets over her head as was her way.

Cynthia sat up on Zoë’s other side.  _Did she just make a_  joke _?_ she mouthed incredulously, gesturing at Zoë’s bedroll. 

"Cyn," Diana grumbled. "Come back. You're stealing all the blankets."

Artemis smiled and shrugged in answer to Cynthia's question before turning back to her contemplation of the moon.  All that night, she thought about the unusual promise she had just made. It wasn’t every day someone begged you  _not_  to save their life.

 _Zoë,_  she thought with no small amount of affection. What _am I going to do with you?_


End file.
